Ob La Di, Ob La Da
by DSieya
Summary: Life goes on, brah! Lala how the life goes on... oneshot indy/marion


**a/n**: my first indiana jones story, because i've become reobsessed with the movies--i hope you guys like it. of course, indy/marion, because--really?--who else?

for those who have already read my previous stories... you've all heard the excuse, but it sadly pertains: college. i recently rediscovered my love for fanfiction and and trying to get back in the swing of writing. so i'll be hopefully writing more harry potter in the near future.

enjoy!

ps + disclaimer: the summary is a beatles quote, which does not belong to me. weirdly enough, i think the rights to the song belong to michael jackson. but i could be wrong.

* * *

It has been over a year since Abner Ravenwood had found Marion in a rather compromising position with Indiana Jones upon her bed. He had ordered Jones out of the room to pack his things and _get the hell out_ and—once him and Marion were alone—given his daughter one sound slap across her face. She had sat, stunned, her cheek and her lips and her neck a bright red. Stunned that her father had hit her, and even more stunned at his resolute and shamed face as he did so.

Too many things had happened at once. That day, those moments, seems to her a hurricane of emotion—hurt, anger, love, shock. Indy had been throwing his things into his bag when Marion whirled in clothed in only her dressing gown.

"_Well—am I coming with you or not?"_

When he looked up at her, the fedora atop his tangled and scruffy hair, she knew the answer before he said it. Her realization and hurt must have shown on her face, because Marion remembers a split-second hesitation before he spoke.

"_I don't think that's a good idea, Marion."_

He had stepped forward to stroke the struck cheek, probably thinking her face was flushed from emotion. It wasn't. She distinctly remembers the cold, rushing feeling of draining blood, leaving her face white except for the splotchy red mark on the left side of her face. Anger burned and smoldered in the pit of her stomach.

"_Don't touch me,"_ she had said, and turned heel and strode off. That was the last she saw of Indiana Jones. Outside it was clear and peaceful, with the summer ground hard under her bare feet. The rest of her day was a haze—she had stumbled back home over four hours later and collapsed on the couch in the drawing room. She doesn't remember much more.

And now, a year running, Marion has been—well, in Nepal. _Idle_ in Nepal might be the best way to put it. Abner had resigned his professorship at the University and moved them to an extended dig in the mountains for the headpiece. She catalogues his finds. She runs the tavern at night while he does research. And, slowly, methodically, she converts her hurt and grief into hate.

Because—no matter what she thought and said before or during Indy (who now in place of a human had become a cataclysmic event in her mind)—in her post-Indy days she realizes that she indeed had been just a child. Every touch and kiss had been cherished. Everything with him—for her, it was a first. Indiana Jones had been her first. Her first love—all the whispered love in her ear—and it still shames her to remember that she believed all that. A naïve child in love.

_Honey_, she tells herself, _Indiana Jones knows his art well._ She could imagine what she looked like—a conquest, the professor's daughter ten years his junior. The professor's daughter who had shown none of the usual signs of lust upon meeting him. Oh, if wooing was his art, Marion Ravenwood must have been his masterpiece.

Marion had never had a loving relationship with her father, but they had been relatively close and the trust that Abner had placed in her was completely destroyed and never to be replaced—not that she would test it again. Her father couldn't see it, but her romantic interest in anyone had disappeared—she calls it learning from experience. Marion Ravenwood may be stupid once, but never did she repeat her mistakes. And she does miss her freedom.

But still—since Indiana had betrayed him and taken his daughter's _innocence_ from her, it wasn't as if he is inviting anyone over within twenty years of Marion's age. So life is lonely in Nepal for the both of them—they are always the Americans. The only human contact that Marion has is work behind the bar and silence with her father.

Life wasn't the same; no, her world had been turned upside down too many times for it to be normal or _happy_, but she doesn't allow herself to wallow in despair. She finds things to look forward to—like returning to the States. Maybe, when she meets once again the prodigy archaeologist who had ruined her life, she would show him a piece of her idle suffering. (That was definitely something to look forward to—she spends her nights entertaining herself with dozens of different scenarios.)

But it has been a year, and the hurt is subsiding. She adjusts to a life where she lived to the routine. She realized that the sun rose upon her every morning that Indy wasn't there. And for now—well, Marion Ravenwood is fine.


End file.
